Fires of Firenze
by RedInkRevolution
Summary: I began writing this for a friend and decided to upload it here as well. A/U, The question of "What if?" remains when it comes to Gabriella and Rodolfo Greco. What if things had gone very, very differently upon Gabi's first few days in the past?


**Disclaimer**: I do not own anything of the River of Times Series; they belong to Lisa Bergren. However, because of her, my imagination has been allowed to dream, birthing this random "What if?" story. A/U in nature, I've originally begun writing this for a friend after finishing Deluge. It's purely for fun. :) Enjoy!

***Gabriella***

Lord Rodolfo Greco (I think of him more fondly as "Lord Look-But-Don't-Touch-McHotpants") has decided to bless me with his intimidating presence, even after Marcello's firm 'suggestion' that he return to his own quarters. Rodolfo is the sort of man I would not have had the audacity to approach back home. He seems to absorb information like a sponge, taking in the whole of his surroundings with acute sensitivity. The moment we met, as his hand held my own to his lips and our eyes locked, I knew I was done for. If ever there was a man who mastered the art of reading people as if they were books, my money would be on this guy. He is clever and cautious, amiable and sophisticated, and did I mention completely gorgeous? His hair alone is swoon-worthy, wild like his eyes….oh, have mercy, those _eyes_…

I need to pull myself together before he can read any of _that_ from my expression.

Marcello will not speak to me of the man's business here at Castello Forelli, and it's right that he shouldn't; after all, who am I to them but some under-dressed (possibly bewitched) tomb-walker from Normandy? I now know how Alice must have felt upon entering Wonderland, having fallen down a hole in time itself and waking up in Italy seven hundred years prior to my existence. If only Lia were here; then perhaps I could summon the courage to laugh at our bizarre situation.

"Ahem…Lady Betarrini?" he intrudes, and I look up at him with partial annoyance; I was having a nice internal monologue there. He's lucky that his voice reminds me of ice cream, smooth and sweet with a bit chill. What I wouldn't give for some Rocky Road right now. Am I PMSing? Gosh, I hope not; what do they even do for that here? Please, God, don't let me have to find that out the hard way...

Oh no. He's still looking at me to respond. "Forgive me," I reply, shaking my head to clear it. Funny how we treat our minds like an Etch-a-Sketch. "Lord Greco, this is hardly appropriate."

He smiles…Holy Michael Angeltoast, what a smile. "By all means, Milady, I am the one who must ask forgiveness. I understand the timing isn't ideal, but I had to speak with you." He walks towards the wall across the room as if admiring the tapestry that hung there…one of the many tapestries Castello Forelli had showcased. I follow him, keeping an eye on the door and taking a seat in a chair next to the fireplace nearby. "Marcello seems to believe your story about your origins, and this long-lost sister you speak of," he starts, turning to face me and crossing his arms. I can feel my face flush red under his intense gaze, despite my best efforts to seem nonchalant. He pulls out a piece of clothing from underneath his own tunic, and I freeze; it's the tank top I had been wearing when first arriving in this time. Where had he even found that? "I, however, am having a bit harder time with the details. If you would be so kind, would you mind explaining this?"

I swallow, trying to think of a good explanation for what he's holding out to me, yet unable to think of anything but the truth. Would he think me a witch? Sure, I could be moody, but that was as close as I ever came to one. "Lord Greco," I say quietly, though my voice falters. His eyes are searching my own, sifting through them as if one look might help him decipher all he wishes to know. Who knows; maybe it will. All I know is that I need to find Lia, and while the Forellis have promised to help me in my endeavor, this man with his red and gold tunic, sharp gaze, and muscular frame might have a better shot at doing so. Maybe it was worth the risk to trust him. Taking a deep breath, I approach him closely, taking my shirt from him and holding it to my chest. "Lord Greco," I say once more, meeting his eyes and unable to help a pathetic smile. Maybe I could charm him into not burning me at the stake. Here it goes... "Can you keep a secret, even if it seems completely ridiculous?"

His eyebrow raises, and he crosses his arms. "You obviously do not know with whom you speak," he responds with a small snort. "Aye, Milady; continue." While serious about getting the truth from me, I see a part of him respond to my words in a way I am still very unaccustomed to: with longing. The intrigue and desire I find emanating from him warn me I am still walking on fragile ground. Back in my own time, guys never paid me the slightest bit of attention. Lia was far more popular, thanks to her angelic features; so what is it about me that causes Lord Greco to respond in such a way? I can see it in his eyes, a hunger for something I do not pretend to understand fully. It's then I realize he might be just the right person to come clean to; I see in him a desire to trust me.

"All right, then," I say with a note of finality, folding the tank top before setting it on a table beside us. I spill everything that has happened so far, with Lia and our exploration of the tomb, the handprints and their unexpected warmth, the travel through time, and Lia's unexplained absence upon my waking. By the time I am finished recounting my tale, the look on Lord Greco's face is one of disbelief, fascination, disappointment, and amusement. This time, my own arms cross. "You think I'm making this up."

"No, no," he responds quickly, though the doubt in his voice gives him away. "Not at all. It's quite common for women dressed as you were to meander now and then through time using nothing but painted walls," he says in all seriousness. Is it my imagination, or do I see a tinge of anger behind his eyes as well?

"You mock me," I sigh, shaking my head. "How else can this be explained? Look into my eyes and know my heart, Sir. I do not take you for a fool; would I make up such a story for the sake of a garment?"

He approaches far closer now, taking my shoulders in his hands as his gaze bores into my own. Did someone cue the awkward silence? Now, hear me out; I have had _plenty_ of awkward encounters in my lifetime. There was the time Lia had to help me get my head unstuck from inside an old guillotine in a museum we had visited while in London; the time I had accidentally snarted (you know…that gloriously divine moment when fates collide and one manages to simultaneously sneeze _and_ fart) during a church service at a time of complete silence on the preacher's part (which, thanks to the structure of the chapel, ended up echoing all the way to the back); even the time I had ripped my pants during gym class while attempting to complete my two-hundredth sit up. However, this takes the cake. Never before have I felt so attracted to a man I shouldn't…especially now, surrounded by silence with his hands on my shoulders, eyes locked, only a breath away from something more.

After a while, it seems he finds the assurance he needs, finally dropping his hands from where they were with a brief nod. I already miss their absence. "Very well," he says quietly, glancing back at the shirt and lifting it from its place on the table. "In that case, this must go." He walks over to the fire, tossing it in and watching the flames slowly turn the threads to ash. Once he's satisfied, he turns back to me. "Lady Gabriella, it is my most sincere desire that you would return with me to my Castello; I will do everything I can to help you find your sister. Surely, we must, before anyone else finds her in such a fragile state."

Yes. Yes, a thousand times yes! Isn't that what Jane Bennett had said to Mr. Bingley? "Thank you," I reply, relieved that he actually believed me. "When do we leave?"

"On the morrow," he replies, calculating. "I'll let Marcello know that we conversed and that I may have a lead as to where your sister is. He will not be happy that I am taking you, but I am positive his betrothed shall do her best to take his mind off of our abrupt exodus; it amuses me how threatened she becomes the moment you enter a room." A smirk graces his lips as my cheeks flush red. For once, I don't have a smart comeback. Is this what this guy is going to do to me every time we talk? Take away my words and turn my thoughts to mush?

"Well…then we should have no issues leaving," I say, following my own practical advice of 'when in doubt, state the obvious.'

With a small nod, he returns to the door. "Be ready to leave by dawn," he states, reverting back to the serious leader I had first met the day before, leaving me to my thoughts. He wouldn't have need to tell me twice.


End file.
